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CELEBRATIO^T 






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CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH 



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THE BURi\S CLUB, 



OF 



WASIIIN'GTOX CITY, I). C 



AT THE NATIONAL HOTEL, JAXrARV LT). 185'". 




VV A. 8 H I N G T O x\ : 

J0SP:PII SFilLLTNGTON, PUBIJSIIP:i 



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'' CELEBRATION 



OF THE 



CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH 



OF 



KOBERT BURNS 



BY 



THE BURL'S CLUB, 



OF 



WASHINGTON CITY, D. C, 



AT THE NATIONAL HOTEL, JANUARY 25, 1859. 



PUBLISHED BY ORDER OF THE SOCIETY. 




WASHINGTON: 

JOSEPH SHILLINGTON, PUBLISHER. 



W. H. MOORE, PRINTER. 



OFFICERS AND MEMBERS 



OF 



PRESENT AT THE CENTENARY CELEBRATION. 



■»« — ♦•-•> — H 



Senator James A. Pearcb, of Maryland, honorary Chairman. 
Mr. Speaker James L. Orr, of South Carolina, Honorary/ Vice- Chairman. 
James M. Carlisle, Esq., of the District of Columbia, Orator of the Evening. 
Ben. Perley Poors, of Massachusetts, Honorary Corresponding Secretary. 





Peter Hannay, President. 






William B. Todd, Treasurer. 


X^~ . 




Daniel Dewar, Secretary. 


Donald MacLeod 


,, '\ Committee 


■Wm. R.Smith, 


Wra. E. Spaulding, V of 


Gilbert Cameron, 


Thos. McWilliams, J Arrangements. 


_ James Sword. 


Dr. John B. Blake, 


William P. Drury, 


Frederick Pilling, 


Col. Robert Stevens, 


William Higgins, 


Robert Penman, 


Anthony Pollak, 


Benjamin Chambers, 


William MacLeod, 


Edward A. Dickins, 


John Mellis, 


Franklin Philp, 


Dr. Wm. A. Spence, 


James Brown, 


William Gait, 


J. N. Mclntyre, 


James A. Tait, 


John T. Mitchell, 


John Mitchel, 


George Gibson, 


James McWilliams, Jr., 


E. G. Compton, 


Robert Galbraith, 


George Thorp, 


Homer P. K. Peck, 


William Roberts, 


A. F. Cunningham, 


Luke Lea, 


Alexander Rutherford, 


Rev. Dr. Balch, 


Hudson Taylor, 


L. Oppenheimer, 


W. L. Nicholson, 


C. B. Maury, 


Charles Lewison, 


James F. Gibson, 


Charles Everett, 


Robert McLean, . 


Alex'r Gardner, 


Austin H. Bestor, 


James Clephane, 


W. B. Brady, 


Andrew Coyle, 


K. C. Woodley, 


Timothy A. Sullivan, 


Job W. Angus, 


Albert Woodley, 


William Dickson, 


John D. McPherson, 


Samuel T. Williams, 


William Ballantyne, 


Peter Bacon, 


John C. Rives, 


Edward Dolan, 


John Reese, 


William Thomas, 


Richard Goodchild, 


Henry Otterback, 


John Wise, 


John Watt, 


Fred. D. Stewart, 


Thos. E. Young, 


Hon. Jas. G. Berret, 


Charles White, 


William Geddes, 


Wm. H. Ward, 


George White, 


William Mohun, 


Francis Mohun, 


Alonsen Hatch, 


John H. Small, 


R. H. Laskey, 


James Donnelly, 


Archibald Cunningham, 


J. F. Ennis, 


W. A. Maury, 


George F. Cunningham, 


S. S. Parker, 


F. L. Harvey, 


John H. Cunningham, 


Edward Stubbs, 


Thos. C. Wheeler, 


Jerome Callahan. 


William Forsyth, 


F. A. Lity, 


Thos. W. Spence', 


A, L. Newton, 


J. C. C. Hamilton, 


Dr. Antisell, 


J. F. Coyle, 


Charles Haskins, 


A. J. Glosbrenner, 


Peter Gallant, 


Benjamin F. Wilkins, 


Joseph Shillington, 


William H. Clampitt, 


George W. Flood, 


Hon. John A. Bingham, 


Mr. McMahon, 


Thos. Magrath, 


Michael W. Clusky, 


B. Riordan, 


Maj. B. B. French, 


E. G. Dill, 


Y. P. Page, 


A. Dimitry, 


J. W. Dawson. 





^ 
d^ 



THE CELEBRATION. 



The Washington City Burns Club celebrated, with marked success, the Centennial An- 
niversary of the birth of " Scotia's Bard." No pains had been spared by the committee 
of arrangements, to have the Celebration at the Metropolis of the United States worthy 
of the occasion, and they were well-seconded by the landlords of the National Hotel, at 
which the entertainment was given. A large portion of those present were either "brither 
Scots," or of Scotch descent, but it was not left to them alone to honor the memory of one 
whose fame is cherished the world over. Men of many nations joined in testifying their 
admiration for him who had "an inspiration for every fancy and music for every mood." 

The large dining room of the Hotel was decorated with engraved portraits of Burns and 
of scenes from his poems. Three long tables extended the whole length of the hall, with 
a cross table at the upper end, for the invited guests. The banquet was profuse, and the 
bill of fare comprised luxuries and substantials, with ornamented confectionary and large 
bowls of "reekin punch." 

Senator Pearce, the Honorary President, took the head of the table, Mr. Speaker Orr, 
Honorary Vice President, presiding at the other end of the room. Rev. Dr. Balch, by 
invitation, said a most impressive grace, after which the company sat down, and enjoyed 
the material entertainment, until called to order for the more intellectual "feast of 
reason." 

Senator Pearce, on rising to speak, was greeted with loud and prolonged cheers. 

When silence was restored, he said : 

Gentlemen : We are assembled to-night to commemorate the natal day of a great genius 
and poet — of one whose name is a familiar household word in Scotland — whose poetry 
has stirred the enthusiasm of every grown man and woman in that country, and touched 
the hearts of all elsewhere who love nature, who are capable of feeling depth and tender- 
ness of sentiment or who enjoy the mirth of humor. Just one hundred years ago, within 
the clay walls of a cottage which his own father's hands had constructed, Robert Burns 
was born : 

"Fair science smiled not on his humble birth." 

No " boast of heraldry " was his. Few and feeble were the gleams of prosperity which 
through a life of toil and severe struggles with poverty cheered the peasant bard. He 
owed very little to education, far less to patronage, and nothing to the accidents of for- 
tune. Yet, while drudging in the daily routine of labors, which may well be supposed 
to have been somwhat repulsive to one of his susceptibilities, he felt the sting of genius. 
His own fervid and impassioned imagination bred and nourished in him a love of song, 
and before he had passed the period of early manhood, he was the author of a body of 
poetry sufficient in itself for a national minstrelsy. This was not the result of a system- 
atic pursuit of poetry as an art — of careful study of the finest models of poetic taste 
and beauty. The poetry of Burns welled out from the fountain of his own imagination. 
It was the natural overflow of a mind full of strong feeling, of quick and warm sensibili- 
ties, and of bold, original thought. He was not merely the author of beautiful fancy 
scenes, such as spring from the ardor of poetic invention, but rather the painter of nature 
and truth — daguerreotyping in his mind all that appeared to him attractiA-e and striking, 
particularly in that lowl}^ life, along whose sequestered vale his own condition and pur- 
suits chiefly led him. But, however he strung his harp, whether in lowly life or amid 
its higher scenes, his was — 

" That music to wliose tone, 
The common pnlse of man keeps tune." 

His poetry spoke to the hearts of men, and filled them with his own yearnings, while it 
revealed to them in full beauty and tenderness, what they had only dimly seen or vaguely 
felt before. All this, as well as his sympathy with the people, the scorn of abject de- 



4 The Centennial Festival by the 

his independent life, that — 

" The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The man's the man tor a' that " — 

n.ade him the favorite of the Scottish people. And to ^^-^^^^JJ' ;^7/,\TsTeX i"^^^ 
years have passed since his death, Robert Burns is as dear to ^^J^' ^f^^^^^^^^^^^Tar Ltv 
freshly cherished as when their tears bedewed his early tomb. In the "^^^f f ^7. J^ ^ 
of his songs, he has been compared to the birds-those "sweet children of the air. 
Montgomery likened him to — 

» The woodlark in his mournful hours. 

The goldfinch in his mirth, 

The thrush— a spendthrift of his powers, 

Enrapturing heaven and earth ; 

The linnet in simplicity, 

In tenderness, the dove; 

And more than all beside, vi^as he, 

The nightingale, in love." 
This is both true and beautiful. His descriptions of natural scenery were seldom to6 
elaborate, but almost invariably fresh, fragrant, and truthful; so that in gathering poetic 
sweets from nature's charms, he has been fitly " compared to the humming bird, trom 
bloom to bloom, inhaling heavenly balm." In the martial lyric, he has given us an ode 
unsurpassed in any age— if, indeed, it has ever been equalled. Burns's address to his 
array stirs the blood like the sound of a trumpet. In its few but magnificent verses it 
appeals to the pride of former renown, the hope of glorious victory, the devotion of faith- 
ful patriotism, the honor of generous loyalty, the sacred love of freedom, scorn of the 
coward and the traitor's shame, and detestation of oppressions chains — to all that could 
swell the hearts and fire the souls of brave men upon the field of desperate conflict, com- 
pressed into a few verses, every word of which makes the bosom throb with the high and 
bold resolution : <• To do or die." 

The Cotter's Saturday Night I will not attempt to analyze, but I may say that it is a 
beautiful, and I believe, a truthful description of scenes in domestic Scottish life, full of 
moral and sacred influences, — of honest, sincere family affection, of simple, generous hos- 
pitality, of pure and bashful love, of unaffected reverence, and sober, earnest devotion. 
Neither will I dwell upon Tam O'Shanter — 

'' Glorious 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious " — 

Nor Hallowe'en that fine portraiture of popular superstitions, nor upon many other pieces 
abounding in rich humour, tender sentiment, picturesque description or stinging satire, 
and characterized by the varied powers which lifted Burns above his original condition, 
and gave him an imperishable name and fame among the children of song. He was not 
indeed the author of an epic, nor of long, elaborately sustained poems : 

'• The simple bard, rough at the rustic plough, 
Learning his tuneful trade from every bough," 

had no opportunity for this amidst the weary labors and anxious solicitudes of his lowly 
lot. But it was wonderful how much he accomplished in spite of so many disadvantages. 
Compelled to train himself, with very meagre resources, except such as were supplied 
from his own genius, he was able to win the homage of his fellow peasants, and then to 
command the admiration of the great. Slow and stinted were his public rewards ; and " 
Great Britain, whose literature he had gemmed with so many beauties, had nothing better 
to bestow on the immortal bard than the uncongenial and repulsive employment of an ex- 
ciseman, working hard for about £50 per annum. As before, he had composed his 
poetry, either amidst the labors of the field or in his occasional wanderings by brae and 
burn, so now he wooed the muses successfully, not by Helicon or at Parnassus, but while 
galloping on horseback over the moors and mountains of his bonnie Scotland in pursuit 
of contraband, hunting smugglers on the wild sea coast, or detecting other frauds on the 
revenue. 

Death, which so early stilled his song forever, came not in time to prevent his securing 
that permanent fame which he coveted more than wealth or honors ; and posterity, 
more just and generous than cotemporaries, have given to his mortal remains a fitting 
mausoleum, and to his memory a consecrated place in the Scottish heart. Even here, 
too, it lives, fresh and green, by the sparkling waters of our Atlantic, and in the grand 
primeval woods of our mighty West. 

Gentlemen, for more than a century past, Scotland has been prolific of intellectual de- 
velopment in all departments. She has contributed to the realm of which she forms but 
a small part, a large proportion of the men distinguished as metaphysicians, political 
economists, inventors, historians, critics, jurists, orators, and poets. Among them all, 



Washington City Burns Cluh 5 

no one has secured a higher place in the admiration and affections of his countrymen, 
than Burns. As confirmatory of this, I may mention this incident: A philosophic friend 
of mine was traveling some years ago in Scotland, where he visited Abbotsford. On re- 
turning from this visit, he fell into company and conversation with a plain Scotch farmer, 
to whom he talked of the illustrious founder of Abbotsford, of his brilliant poems, and 
still more brilliant prose fictions, which have been, and still are the delight of all readers 
of romance, and which indeed have made a new epoch in the history of literature. To 
all that he said, the Scotchman listened with evident pride and pleasure. Yet, he re- 
plied thus : " The Sherra was a grand writer and a vera clever chiel, but for a' that he 
could na hand a candle to Robbie Burns." 

Senator Pearce then commenced offering the Regular Toasts, each of which was, as 
given, repeated by the Vice-chairman. 

Fint Regular Toast. " The memory of Robert Burns. 

Soul of the Poet! Wheresoe'r, 

Reclaimed from earth, thy genius plume • 
Her wings of immortalitj' — 
Suspend thy harp in happier sphere, 

And with thine influence illume 
The gladness of our Jubilee ! Campbell. 

J. M. Carlisle, Esq., who had been invited by the Committee of Arrangements to res- 
pond to this sentiment, was introduced by the Chairman, and was warmly greeted. 

He prefaced his remarks by acknowledging the honor which had been assigned 
to him — of which, he said, he was very sensible, and not the less so because (if his 
friends from the Emerald Isle, some of whom he saw near him, would pardon a slight in- 
accuracy of expression, and he knew they were fastidious about such things) all the Scot- 
tish blood he had was derived by inheritance from his posterity. Yes, sir. (continued Mr. 
Carlisle.) my bairns, and bairns bairns, till the blood runs out, may claim their lawful 
share in Scotland's pride in her illustrious names — her long array of heroes, statesmen, 
poets, and philosophers — her wide domain of learning and of song — of lore and legend — 
her strong and sterling race. 

The memory of Burns ! What a volume is enclosed in these few and simple words ! 
What well-remembered pictures of the gentle, the manly, the beautiful, the sublime, rise 
up before us. What moving associations with all nature, animate and inanimate, mortal 
and immortal, throng upon the mind, and by turns swell the pulse, and soothe, and 
nestle in, and melt the heart, when we call upon each other, as we now do, to remember 
Burns ! 

The sod was green upon his grave when the oldest of the men around this board was 
but a child. None of us ever beheld him. And yet, "the memory of Burns" brings up 
before us, with vivid clearness, a household form. His spirit is no strange companion, no 
cold and formal guest to-night. It is evoked from no dim and distant region of imagina- 
tion, with which mere flesh and blood can hold at best but brief and feverish inter- 
course. He revisits us, not 

— ''by the fitful glimpses of the moon," 
but, as it were, in the sparkling dew and early sun-light of the morning — the flowers 
springing up to court his merry smile, and breathing out Iheir incense at his feet; the 
birds carroling above his head ; and banks and braes, and haughs and woods, and wind- 
ing streams and waving fields, are all about him ; and near at hand, the humble cot, the 
plough, the sickle, and the flail; — while native vvit, and rustic beauty, and love, and 
friendship, follow in his train! 

I do not mean to say that with the memory of Burns come only such bright and cheer- 
ful recollections. Far from it. But among the poets this is his undisputed^empire ; and 
in the hearts of millions these are the associations which are foremost to gather around 
his name. 

One hundred years ago this day, in a '• clay biggin " in Ayrshire, was heard the first 
wail of a new-born boy, whose voice was destined to awaken melodious echoes through- 
out all generations of the British race ; echoes which successive centuries will receive 
and throw forward, from peak to peak, along the great sierra of time, till it loses itself in 
the ocean of eternity. 

This is not exaggeration. We have no reason to expect that the kindred people who 
are this night, in distant quarters of the globe, moved by a common impulse to honor the 

memory of Burns, will cease while time lasts to "hold their own "upon that globe • 

rather may that prophet who speaks only by the inspiration of the past (our only prophets 
now-a-days) foretell incursion than retreat. But it needs no prophet, of either sort to 
say that the latest blood of England, Scotland, Ireland, or America will stir the heart and 
quicken in the vein under the spell of Robert Burns. The secret is, he speaks to Ijuman 



6 The Centennial Festival hy the 

nature, to that simple, manly nature which is ever turning back to the pure fountains of 
natural emotion, and away from artificial streams of sickly sentiment. 

True poetry is the gift of nature. Art may counterfeit it, and in part supply its place, 
but only within a narrow range. Its true magic is the offspring of the heart — the gift of 
nature. Heart answers heart as by a law of nature. In both poetry and eloquence the 
words which are immortal — the words which are independent of time, and place, and 
circumstances, are spoken by great nature of what concerns herself. It may be, and 
often is, that they are garnished with all that art can do ; but the thought, the feeling, 
the hope, the fear, the thing itself — whether of the past, the present, or the future — to 
be more than the creation of the hour, must be an emanation from the heart, — the com- 
mon heart of all mankind. Thus it was with Burns. You have aptly quoted a stanza 
from one of our own poets, who has, with singular beauty, expressed what every body 
feels of Burns. Allow me to remind you of some neighboring lines- — 

" His is that language of the heart 

In which the answering heart Avoiild speak — 
^Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, 

Or the smile light the cheek." 

The simplest scenes— objects insignificant and senseless to the common mind, under his 
touch assume their true relations to the common heart of man. A single example. He is 
holding his plough in the field at Mossgiel, fulfilling the primeval sentence, "in the sweat 
of thy face shalt thou eat bread," and in the midst of his toil he makes "immortal as his 
song," the 

" Wee sleek it, cowrin timorous beastie'" — 
the fieldmouse whose "wee bit housie" he had laid in ruin with his ploughshare. 

How the true poet of nature looms upon us in such a scene! How sublimely does his 
immortal part soar above the narrow circumstances of its clay tenement, and there, under 
the broad heavens, proclaim its conscious immortality ! Think of it a moment. The 
body bending and straining at the plough ; the soul free as air, revelling in ethereal space, 
weaving into sweetest words the gentlest fancies and the purest emotions. 

This, you know, is not an imaginary scene. We have the testimony of his gaudsman, 
Johnny Blane, that the simple incident which he has thus perpetuated, really occurred, and 
that for the rest of his ploughing that day the bard gave visible tokens of being rapt in 
contemplation, and on his return to his humble cottage sat at his little deal table and 
committed its result to paper. I would not select it as an example of his poetic genius, 
eclipsed as it is by many others of his productions ; but it is to be thought of and cited 
whenever we would picture to ourselves the ploughman bard. 

All honor to the plough! The poet of the seasons says : 

" In ancient times the sacred plough employed 

The Kings and awful fathers of mankind; 

And some, with whom compared your insect tribes 

Are but the beings of a summers' day, 

Have held the scale of empire — ruled the storm 

Of mighty war; then with unwearied hand. 

Disdaining little delicacies, seized 

The plough — and greatly independent lived." 

But it was reserved for our peasant poet alone, at one and the same time to open the 
bosom of mother earth with the coulter, and to unlock the fountains of all hearts by the in- 
spiration of his own ; to bend the body, and exalt the soul ; to strain and struggle under 
the weight of weary toil, and all the time "upon the wings of the dove, to soar away to 
yonder mountain, and be at rest." 

And so with rational nature ; his intercourse with it was constantly suggestive to his 
genius. His sense of humor, his perception of the ridiculous, his contempt of all things 
base, his worship of all things truly noble, his tender susceptibility of true pathos, the 
deep and everflowing fountain of all generous and gentle sympathies which welled up 
within him, transmuted everything around him into immortal song. "From grave to 
gay, from lively to severe," he was carried by the strong and natural impulse of poetry; 
and all ranks and conditions of men followed him entranced. All hues and tones of 
poetry by turns inspired him, and often with surprising versatility; so that as we read 
some of his most characteristic poems, the tear which tills the eye at one moment, is dried 
up at the next by the warmest and heartiest smile. It seemed, indeed, that the extremes 
of emotion — 

" Alternate swayed his breast ; like light and shade 
Upon a waving field, chasing each other, 
While flying clouds now hide and now reveal 
The sun." 

And so truly are they expressed that they are instantly and vividly mirrored by every reader. 

Scenes of roystering mirth — scenes of solemn devotion — the cradle and the grave— the 

smiling meado-vy-j and the field of blood — the soft lament, the towering hope — the whis^ 



Washington Oity Burns Cluh. 7 

pered wordsof love — clarion call ofpatriotism — were allat his command — andseemedeach 
in turn his own peculiar province. And yet, with all these treasures, which have en- 
riched the world, 

" Ghill penury had marked him for her own." 

He lived and died in humblest, straightened circumstances. But no sooner was that celes-^ 
tial light extinguished, than a whole nation was ready to relume it, if that were possible, 
at any sacrifice. In the land of his. birth it seemed that death had visited every fire- 
side, and made an empty chair at every board. Everywhere the voice of aflFection and of 
grief broke forth as from one breast. 

Scotland took her idol in her arms, and strained him to her bosom. But alas, too late, 
too late! He was cold and stark, insensible to her embraces. 

In the prime and flower of his life — his tale half told — his song half sung — he dropped 
into the grave. 

The poet of the' Church-yard, in imagination standing by an humble mound, has said 

" No longer seek his merits to disclose. 
Nor drag his frailties from their dread abode; 
. There thej"- alike in trembling hope repose — 
The bosom of his Father, and his God. 

These touching lines may well recur to us, however pure and sacred the dust which the 
sod covers. But we are met to-night to do honor to all that is honorable in the memory 
of Burns. He was but a man : and 

"A man's a man for a' that," 
and he was a man amongst men, " head and shoulders taller " than the flower of man- 
kind, and as men we well may do him honor. 

No vain and hollow phrases of laudation are uttered, here or elsewhere to night, by those 
who meet together to honor the memory of Burns. We are here, each man of us, for our- 
selves and those who have gone before us, and for those who, through us, are to fill our 
places when we are known no more, to pay a portion of a debt which can never be extin- 
guished. The solitary hours which he has enlivened ; the sadness which he has cheered ; 
the beds of lingering sickness whose weariness he has beguiled ; these things alone im- 
pose upon our hearts a debt of ever-living gratitude. All that is left to us is to honor his 
memory, I must not forget that this is a grateful duty, in which we must all parti- 
cipate. The hours are flying. Thrifty Scotland admonishes me not to be prodigal of 
time. Burns himself would tell us that 

" When drouthy neebors neebors meet " 
is no time for "lang discourses." 

Then, sir, let the toast go round ; be his songs sung ; his lays recited ; the stories of 
his life rehearsed. And in our festivity, let us not forget those who on the other side of the 
water are this night thinking and feeling in unison with ourselves. For their sakes I 
trust to be pardoned for breaking the order of your toasts, and asking all to fill their 
glasses to this sentiment : 

" To the electric cable of sympathy, which lies deeper than the depths of ocean, and is 
now transmitting, from continent to continent, an unbroken current in memory of Burns." 

(Drank with all the honors,) 

Second Eegular Toast. " Scotland." 

Oh, Caledonia! stern and wild, 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ; 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood! 

Land of the mountain and the flood! 

Land of our sires! what ruthless hand 

Shall e'er untie the filial band 

That knits us to the rugged strand ? SocwT. 

Gilbert Cameeon, Esq., President of the St. Andrews' Society of Washington City, was 
loudly called upon to respond to this sentiment. Acknowledging the compliment as 
paid to the Society at which he is at the head of rather than to himself personally, he de- 
clined making a speech, but favored the company with that capital song "Rantin Rovin 
Robin." It was received with great enthusiasm. 

Third Eegular Toast. " The President of the United States." 

A letter was read from President Buchanan, expressing His regi^t that a previous en-. 

gagement at home prevented his attendance, and oifering as a sentiment : — 

"Robert Burns: The child of impulse and of genius. His memory will be ever cherished by those who 
have taste to discern and hearts to feel the simple pathos' of true poetry," 

The company rose, and gave three hearty cheers and "a tiger" for the President of 

the United States — one of the clan Buchanan, 



8 The Centennial Festival hy the 

Hon. Mr. Orr, Speaker of the House of Representatives, was called for from all parts 

of the hall to respond to the toast in honor of the President. When he rose, he was 

loudly applauded, and he spoke substantially as follows — 

In rising to respond to the sentiment just offered he felt that any extended remarks of 
his would be rather an intrusion ; yet it was but meet that on an occasion like this some 
passing notice should be given to the Chief Executive of a great nation. His was a high 
and responsible office, an office that had ever been filled by the most illustrious and most 
eminent men of our country in the past, and he sincerely trusted that, in the future, the 
robes of that high position might never be soiled by unworthy contact. Mr. Buchanan's 
was no sudden elevation. Step by step he had risen to his present eminence. He began 
his public career as a member of the Pennsylvania legislature. Next he represented our 
national interest abroad as American Minister at the court of Russia. Subsequently he 
was elected a member of the United States Senate, and it would be reflecting no discredit, 
he felt sure, upon that distinguished body, to say that he was one of its brightest orna- 
ments. Under the administration of President Polk he was elevated to the post of Secre- 
tary of State. With regard to the ability with which he filled that lofty station he would 
not speak ; he preferred not to trench on controverted points, yet he might be permitted 
to say that the policy pursued by Mr. Buchanan with regard to our foreign relations was 
in the highest degree creditable and advantageous to our country. And now that he is 
seated in the Chair of State, he was confident that he possessed the will, as he was gifted 
with the ability, to preserve untarnished our national honor, both at home and abroad. 
He would pass over his administration, trusting that when it had passed away its public 
acts would be fully and justly appreciated. Concerning the poet, whose memory they 
had assembled to honor, after what had been already said, he could add but little. Burns 
was, to use his own expression, " a man who had little art in making money, and less in 
taking care of it." Poor and neglected, hunted by creditors, he had lived and died ; but 
at that moment his name and fame were being celebrated in every civilized country on 
the face of the globe. Mr. Orr concluded, thanking the company for the kind attention 
they had manifested during his remarks. 

Fourth Regular Toast. "Our Sister Associations throughout the World, that to-day are rendering the 
homage of Nations to the Peasant Bard of Scotland." 

The Corresponding Secretary read the following telegraphic dispatches which had been 
received — some of them in response to greetings sent "over the wires" at the commence- 
ment of the Banquet: 

Boston, 9 o'clock, P.M.. Jan. 25. 
The Boston Burns Club accept the fraternal challenge of their brethren in Washington, and with heart 
and soul say " Here's to ye ;" where e'er ye gang may good luck follow closely. 

Jno. C. Moore, Sec. Boston Burns Club. 

Montreal, Upper Canada, Jan. 25. 
The Montreal Burns Club offer hearty greetings to their brethren in Washington. We too celebrate the 
natal day of the truest bard the world ever saw. Honor to the memory of Burns, and may the next centen- 
nial still swell the chorus of hia fame. 

Buffalo, N. Y., Jan. 25. 
Robert Burns, the only monarch on whom the Scottish nation ever united, and whose throne is erected 
not on glittering bayonets, but in the hearts of the people. 

AsTOR House. N. Y., Jan. 25. 
The Burns Club of the city of New York have selected the following toast and sentiment to be drank all 
over America at 10 o'clock precisely, N. Y. time : " Kindred associations throughout the world : May they 
preserve the songs and disseminate the sentiments of Burns till man to man the world o'er shall brithers be 
and a' that. Vaib Clibehugh, Corresponding Sec'y. 

The Burns Club of Newark offer as a sentiment: The Cottar Homes of Scotland. There cosie hearth- 
stones have ever been tha nurseries of true patriotism and the alters of unswerving piety ; but for them the 
world this night would want the glorious memory of her Burns; blessing be on them— the Cottar Homes 
of Scotland. 

Philadelphia, Jan. 25, 1859. 
The centennial birth-day of Robert Burns, of world wide celebrity, whose fame will increase when we, who 
now do honor to his memory, are laid with him in the dust. 

"Time but the impression deeper makes 
As streams their channels deeper wear." 

«,.„,. ^ ^ Baltimore, Jan. 25. 

The Baltimore Burns Club to their Bairns at Washington, greeting : May joy and mirth abound at your 
jestive board, on this night of jubilee in honor of Scotia's immortal son. 

_,, _ „ ^. , » Louisville, Kv., Jan. 25. 

Ihe Burns Festival offer as a sentiment in honor of the heme of him whose memory we celebrate : <vThe 
jioul of wit, pathos and pure affection ! Where does it swell forth so freely as in the land of Burns." 

BegpectfuUy, Bob. Mobbis, JPraident LouisviUe Burns FettivaiL 



Washington City Burns Club. 9 

Tremont House, Chicago, Jan. 25. 
Chicago drinls to the memory of Burns! 
Robert Burns is passing by. 

Heart of leal can this be dying, 
Coming thus sxiblimely down — 

Lo I an hundred winters sighing, 
Leave unstrewn the holy crown . 

Not in sorrow dawns thy morrow. 
Highland Mary by thy side, 
Making life and love keeii time. 

Beauty be thy deathless bride, 
Weaving all our hearts in rhyme. 

Chorus — Kvery where, everywhere, 

Smiles will break and tears will start — 
Making rainbows round the heart, 
Ploughman, brother, bard of Ayr. 

W. B. Egan, Chairman Chicago Burns Club. 

New Orleans. Jan. 25. 
The Committee of the Burns Festival in New Orleans cordially reciprocate the kind sentiments of the Burns 
Club of Washington, and desire to be remembered in their festivities. The electric flash blends our feelings 
in one current, as the magic songs of Burns unite the hearts of his countrymen throughout the world. 

Mobile, Jan. 2.5. 
Friends of Scotland and admirers of Burns join the Washington Burni Club in honoring the memory of 
Scotia's Bard. 

After these dispatches had been read, the Chairman announced the — 

Fifth Regular Toast, " The Poets of Scotland and America." 

Oh, deem not, midst this worldly strife, 

An idle art the Poet brings! 
Let high Philosophy control, 
And sages calm the stream of life I 

'Tis he refines its fountain springs — 
The nobler passions of the soul! 

DONALD MACLEOD, Esq., responded as follows :— 

The toast to which my brothers of the Burns Club have requested me to respond is so 
worthy of this commemoration that I regret my inability to do justice to it — especially 
within the limited time allowed to a festive speech. What more suitable homage can be 
paid to Robert Burns than to recognize and honor the great masters of the art in which 
he excelled? — the most intellectual, the purest, the noblest, the sublimest of all the 
Fine Arts. For though Burns — 

"Like sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child, 
Warbled his native wood-notes wild," 

yet he was an artist of the very first order; and, as a describer of nature, and delineator 
of humanity, unsurpassed for correctness, in the best sense of that term. 

Or, what more pious tribute to his memory could be given than to revive to your recol- 
lection, at this consecrated hour, the qualities which endeared the humbler names of 
Tannahill and Ferguson to Burns and the people among whom they lived, and piped their 
simple lays to simple hearts — to gather up, as it were, the relics of that reputation which 
was once co-extensive with the simple Doric dialect, that has been carried to every clime 
in the wide world by the hardy and adventurous sons of Caledonia, — to show how thjey 
drew tears of pity, or awakened throbs of admiration, or swelled the heart with social 
songs, and the revelry of the intellect. 

Or, what would be more becoming, on this occasion, than to dwell on the genius and 
worth of those illustrious poets of the nineteenth century in Scotland and America, who 
have, as by common accord, made him whom we honor to-night, the subject of the most 
fervid eulogy in some of the noblest of their verses ? 

But the theme is quite too large. It calls up to the dullest apprehension, and to the 
coldest imagination too many ideas, images and associations ; and I hardly know where 
to begin, or how to treat it. 

The poets of Scotland ! What words can I use to increase the power of the spell 
which lies in such a theme ? Or, if passing over the bards since the times of the pedantic 
King James, I come down to Allan Ramsay — how can I adequately present to you the 
author of " The Gentle Shepherd?" His lines are familiar to the most untutored Scotchman, 
though ignorant of the author; for they have passed not only into the proverbs, but into 
the common vocabulary, of both highlands and lowlands. To the classical scholar must be 
denied any genuine relish of the pastorals of Theocritus or Virgil, if he does not love the 
best Pastoral which modern Europe has produced. 

To you, Mr. President, who may very properly feel some pride in your connection with 
another family of Ramsays, and the noble house of Dalhousie, distinguished alike in 

2 



10 The Centennial Festival hy the 

statesmanship and arms, I am sure it would be a fountain of family glory to claim the 
poet as one of yowT own in lineage as well as in name. " The Gentle Shepherd" will 
live as long as " Waterloo," where was won the Earldom of Dalhousie for the Ramsays. 

And how can I worthily speak of the long line of luminaries that blazed along the 
firmament of Scottish glory since the era of Burns ? Scott, sometimes called the great 
Magician ! — let us name him rather the High Priest of Nature, — the interpreter of his 
country, her people, their, history, their traditions, their thoughts and emotions, their 
passions and their prejudices, — who explained to the whole civilized world the signifi- 
cance of those characters of sublimity and loveliness inscribed by God himself on every 
mountain, lake and valley, wood and waterfall, — and who peopled the whole of his na- 
tive land with the majestic or attractive beings of Romance — Scott, one of the greatest 
benefactors of Scotland — far greater than any of her utilitarian philosophers or merely 
practical men — for he opened new and excellent roads where there was scarcely a bridle- 
path before; he established confortable inns amidst Highland wilds; and placed pinnaces, 
barges and steamboats on the remotest lochs and rivers ; he created the necessity for 
such things, in order to accommodate the crowds of visitors who made his immortal 
poems or novels their guide-books — one of his most boasted literary recollections was 
that, in his youth, he had seen Burns ; " Vidi Virgilium " was his happy classical allusion 
to it. He cherished, with fondness, the memory of the minutest circumstances connected 
with that meeting. The page which records it, in Lockhart's biography, is equally hon- 
orable to Burns, and the boy-poet who was to become the most celebrated Scotchman of 
the nineteenth century. 

How shall 1 fitly notice Campbell, who in his youth, while yet a lad at Glasgow College, 
sang that bold and lofty strain for liberty and humanity in "the Pleasures of Hope," 
which is yet repeated by every school-boy — associating his name with that of Kosciusko, 
our own Kosciusko, the companion in arms of Washington; and encircling it with a glory 
in the estimation of the Polish people, such as no nation ever accorded to a foreigner — Camp- 
bell, the author of war-songs, second only to "Bruce's Address" in energy and fire — 
Campbell, who made our own country the theatre of as sweet, pathetic, and highly fin- 
ished a story of domestic life, romantic incident, and tragic sorrow as is to be found in 
the whole compass of literature ; leaving us two beings of his imagination to divide our 
interest — the Oneida Chief, 

" That stoic of the woods, a man witboiit a tear!" 
^nd the exquisite Gertrude of Wyoming, on whose cheek bloomed indeed the rose of Eng- 
land, but yet — 

" Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore." 

Notwithstanding all that has been written about Burns, Campbell's remarks are left un- 
approachable in point of originality and cordial appreciation ; and the ode to his memory, 
of which a verse was appended to the leading toast of to-night, sufficiently attests what 
an idolater of the great Peasant Poet was the most polished, classic, and learned of Scot- 
land's bards. 

James Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, on whom the mantle of Burns' genius fell, the 
author of " Kilmeny," shines among the glens and mountains of Caledonia with a bright- 
ness that needs no farther illustration ; yet, in his own simple and nervous Doric, he said: 

." I was aye vera prood of being a Scots poet, but was never sae prood as when my 
humble name was connecked wi' Robin Burns." 

John Wilson, or, as he is more endearingly known to you, Christopher North — 



-describe him who can. 



An abridgment of all that is pleasant in man;" 
an epitome of all kinds of ability, mental and physical — who gloried in vindicating the 
true titles of Burns to the universal fame which this day proves has been awarded to him 
by posterity. 

Graham, whose " Sabbath " may be well classed with the " Cotter's Saturday Night," 
as scarcely less full of the simple piety, the strong consciousness of "God with us," the 
ever-present recognition of God in the mind and in the heart, in the household and in 
the community, which are the outgrowth of principles firmly fixed in the very soul of old 
Scotland. 

Motherwell, the author of " Mary Morrison " — Moir, the " Delta " of Blackwood, — Allan 
Cunningham, Lockhart, Gait, &c., &c. What! you may perhaps ask, will the line hold 
on to the crack of doom ? So fertile has Scotland been in names worthy of commemo- 
ration on this occasion. But I must, for the present, drop the curtain on the splendid 
procession of Scottish men of genius, who, in our day, have honored themselves by hon- 
oring Burns. 

The Poets of America ! Let me now turn to them, so worthily associated in the toast 
with those of Scotland. The day has long gone by when it could be asked, "who reads 



Washington City Burns Gluh. 11 

an American book?" or " who reads an American Poem?" Bryant, Halleck, Longfellow, 
Holmes and others are, in their different spheres, quite as popular on the other side of 
the Atlantic as they are among our own people. The day for the highest productions of 
the muse in America may not yet have come. We have been too busy with acting Epics to 
find time for writing them. But as America has produced Heroes worthy of the noblest 
verse, the day will surely come when she will give a Poet worthy of celebrating achieve- 
ments as glorious as ever epic genius handed over to fame. 

Of those now living, I will venture to mention two whose fame is worldwide, and who 
are notably connected with this commemoration. Bryant, the most picturesque and 
original describer of American scenery, presiding, as we learn by telegraph, at the New 
York celebration; and Halleck, a lyrist of the highest order, whose praise will be pe- 
culiarly appreciated in such an assembly as this, for he excelled all other writers in a 
tribute to Burns — the Lines to a Wild Rose from Alloway. 

Mr. President, I have spoken too long ; but my apology is the theme assigned to me. 
I hope it Avill not be deemed out of place, if I add, in such a community as ours, and be- 
fore such a company, that the lesson read by the lives of all poets and men of genius is 
one and the same ; that the habit of regularity is essential to the full development of 
even the highest natural gifts of intellect and imagination ; that poetry is never so per- 
manently captivating or grand as when it adorns and energizes the cause of Morality and 
Religion — and that the false glare which seduces men from the path of regularity, and 
"leads astray," is not "Light from Heaven!" 

Sixth Regular Toast. " The Sons of Burns ! Inheritors of the sturdy independence, the strong sense, 'the 
noble self-reliance, and the tender heart of their illustrious sire." 

This toast was followed by that well known Scotch song, " Maggie Lauder," sung by Mr. 
Albert Woodley with great spirit, and eliciting rounds of applause. 

The Secretary then read a letter from Col. W. W. Seaton, senior editor of the National In- 
telligencer^ expressing his regret that the state of his health prevented his attendance at "the 
celebration of the centennial birth-daj'- of the illustrious bard of Scotland, Robert Burns, 
whose inimitable poems will be read and admired as long as the English language lasts." 
He offered as a sentiment : 

Scotch Bards and Scotch Brigades. The geniu3 of one and the valor of the other alike shed lustre on the 
heroic land of their nativity. 

A letter from Walter L. Nicholson was also read, in which he, "as a brither Scot," of- 
fers for the acceptance of the members of the Burns Club, a "likeness of the Poet, "being 
an etching by his father, the late Wm. Nicholson, (of the Royal Scottish Academy of 
Painting.) after Nasmyth's well-known portrait, painted in 1786, the only one from the 
life, and taken when Burns was in the full vigor of his powers. 

The thanks of the Washington City Burns Club were voted to Mr. Nicholson for his accept- 
able present, and for the loan of the likenesses of Sir Walter Scott, Christopher North, and 
Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, which decked the hall— all portraits from life, by his father. 

Seoenth Regular Toast. The City of Washington. May Congress and the municipal government never foreet 
their responsibilities as guardians ot the metropolis of the nation. 

His Honor Mayor BERRET, in obedience to loud calls from^ll parts of the hall, rose- 
He would have the honor, he said, of responding to the sentiment just drank; and for 
this he felt that he was indebted more to the position which he was proud to occupy than 
to any merits of his own He thought that Congress, as the faithful guardians of this re- 
public, should take a pride in embelishing its Metropolis. He was not among those who 
believed that any combination whatever could bring about the transfer of our Capitol to 
any other place in the universe. The name of him who was "first in war, first in peace 
and first in the hearts of his countrymen," was an ample guarantee that for all time to 
come, the City of Washington was to be the greatest Capital on the face of the earth.' 
And if the glory and perpetuity of our country depended upon the citizens of Washington, 
It was in safe hands. He felt disinclined to do more than to acknowledo-e briefly the 
compliment which had been paid to our city, and he would now yield to other and more 
able gentlemen. 

Eighth Regular Toast. The Good Old Cause. Equal Laws and Free Constitutions throughout the world 

Where'er extend the lakes and seas, 
They'l mak' what rules and laws they please ; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their free-born bluid a ranklin' ; 
Some Washington again may head them, 
Or some Lafayette fearless lead them, 
' Till Heaven knows what may be effected, 
When by such heads and hearts directed. Burns. 



12 



The Centennial Festival hy the 



Professor Alexander F. Dimitry, of Louisiana, called on to respond to this toast by 
singing the " Marseilles Hymn," prefaced it with some pertinent and eloquent remarks. 
He then gave, in the original French, that glorious rallying cry of Liberty, the whole 
audience joining in the chorus. 

[Mr. Speaker Orr was at this period of the entertainment called on to preside by 
Senator Pearcb, who was forced by the state of his health to retire. Ashe left the 
hall, the entire party rose, and gave him three hearty cheers.] 

Ninth Regular Toast. The Lassies. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears, 

Her noblest wark she classes, 1 

Her ^prentice han' she try'd on man, 

An' then she made the lassies, 0! 

Mr. W. B. Todd, in response to this sentiment, sang in capital style " My Nannie's Awa." 
It was loudly applauded and encored. 

Major B. B. FRENCH, being especially called on by the President, rose and made some 
remarks, occupying from ten to fifteen minutes, in which he expressed his great pleasure 
in being present. He spoke of Burns's estimable and genial character as a man. He 
pronounced him unrivalled as a popular poet, warm and devoted in his friendships, 
earnest in his opposition to and ridicule of, cant and hypocricy, but possessed of a soul 
filled with pure religion, and a love of all animated nature. He illustrated his positions 
by quotations from the poet's writings. 

He concluded by repeating the following poem, written by him for the occasion. Mr. 
French's remarks and poem were received with much applause. 



One hundred years ha' ta'en their flight 

Since, upon Scottish earth, 
A son o' song first saw the light — 
The Muses hailed its birth. 

In anld lang syne, my dear, 

Jn anld lang syne, 

His name, they ca'd it Robbie Burns, 

In auld lang syne. 

He grew a winsome youth, and fair, 

An' as Time wagged along, 
His cantie mind, so rich and rare. 
Poured out itself in song. 

In auld lang syne, my dear, 

In auld lang syne. 

Sang glorious, gifted Robbie Burns, 

In auld lang syne. 

His kindly heart, in ilka line 
He ever penned, was seen ; 
The sparkling gems from that rich mine 
Out-glowed the diamond's sheen. 
In auld lang syne, my dear, 
In auld lang syne, 
An' we'll tak' a cup o' kindness novo 
For auld lang syne. 

The lasses lo'ed his gallant ways, 

All cannie hearts he won, 
And Scotland a' was in a blaze, 

0' glory in her son. 

In auld lang syne, Ac. 

His ain land could na' hold his fame ; 

It flashed from shore to shore. 
And Robbie's was a household name 

The whole creation o'er ! 
In auld lang syne, &c. 

E'en here, in this cauld Norland clime, 

Hearts melted at his lay, 
Or glee burst out and ca'd his rhyme 

The funniest o' the day. 
In auld lang syne, &c. 

To Mary's " dear departed shade " 
The holiest thoughts were borne, 

And a' a tearful tribute paid 
To "Man was made to mourn." 
In auld lang syne, &c. 



But oh ! the wild and merry glee, 
The laugh so brisk and bonnie, 
That marked the mirth and revelrio 
Of Tam and Souter Johnny. 
In auld lang syne, my dear, 
In auld lang syne, 
An' we'll tak' a cup o' kindness noio 
For auld lang syne. 

And Where's the callan, far or near, 

Wha did na' e'er bewail 
That mischief to O'Shanter's mare — 

The loss of her gray tail! 
In auld lang syne, &c. 

And lives there one who ever read 

The "Cotter's Satur-e-'en," 
But a' throughout his bluid there spread 
Religion's beauteous sheen ? 
Na' for lang syne, my dear, 
Na' for lang syne, 
But for immortal bliss in Heaven, 
When gone is earth's lang syne! 

When " Scots wha hae wi ' Wallace bled " 

l?weeps o'er the Patriot's lyre, 
The tones that Bruce to battle led, 
Set ilka heart on fire. 

As in lang syne, my dear. 

As in lang syne, 

They did at glorious Bannockburn, 

In auld lang syne. 

And as' " A heart's warm, fond adieu " 

Falls sweetly on the ear. 
The " favored — the enlightened few" 
Give what he asked — "a tear." 
Kor anld lang syne, my dear. 
For auld lang syne. 
In memory of their Brother Burns, 
For auld lang syne. 

For, without tears within his eye — 

Blood tingling through his veins — 
What Brother of the Mystic Tie 
Can sing those soul-born strains ? 
Of auld lang syne, my dear. 
Of auld lang syne, 
Glowing from his fraternal heart, 
In auld lang syne. 



Washington Qity Burns Cluh. 



13 



What friendship, oh I so leal and pure, 

Speaks out in every line 
Of that braw lay which must endure 
While Heaven's bright sun shall shine, 
' Tis •' Auld Lang Syne," my dear, 
'Tis "Auld Lang Syne," 
And live, till human memory dies, 
Shall "Auld Lang Syne!" 

Oh ! Robbie was a true good man, 
Of Nature's purest mould ; 



Out from his heart his feelings ran, 
Like drops o' molten gold. 
In auld lang syne, &c. 

Man has bedewed with many a tear 

The sod his form inurns ; 
And gentle souls will cherish e'er 
The memory of Burns ! 

Through all long Time, my dear, 
Through all long Time — 
His memory shall e'er be green 
Through all long Time! 



Mr. William R. Smith offered as a volunteer sentiment : " The American Admirer's of 
Robie Burns, who honor him here to-night." 
Hon. J. A. BINGHAM, M. 0. from Ohio, was called on to respond, and said — 

Mr. President and gentlemen : The centennial festival in which we now participate com- 
menced with the close of this day in the ftirthest East; from that moment till this, in cheer 
and song and speech, it has kept pace with the hours and followed the setting sun as 
he " trod in his Maker's steps of fire," and Avill so continue westward with the declining 
hours to the farthest verge of the green earth, making the air which belts the world all 
round, tremble with the gathered tribute of a century as it leaps from living hearts 
and living tongues, in honor of Robert Burns, the Peasant Poet of Scotland. The world 
owes as much to Burns for his example of heroic effort under sore trial and for his earnest 
struggle with poverty and the storms of fate, as for his simple but immortal song. 

The fact sir, that without learning, without the opportunity of mental culture, without 
the adventitious aids of wealth and friends, under the pressure of poverty, beset with 
temptation, and in the lowliest and humblest walk of life, he made himself heard and 
honored and adored in every house on every hearth-stone, in every heart of Scotland, 
and still, though dead, makes himself heard and honored wherever the English language 
is spoken, should inspire all on whom nature has bestowed the gift of intellect, however 
lowly, however obscure their lot, to look up, to hope and strive. Though few may 
approach Burns in those simple touches of song and sentiment which thrill and vibrate 
in the hearts of the million, from generation to generation, every man may hope by hon- 
est endeavor like our hero, man and poet, to interpret aright the voice of nature and the 
demands of duty, to find out his own fit and proper work and do it; whether that work 
be to plow and sow and reap, or to utter thoughts of beauty and words of fire in imper- 
ishable song, till the world shall become entranced and listen that it may hear ! Who- 
ever, like Burns, does his true work, is entitled to win and wear the crown — to be enrolled 
among the immortals who know and obey that highest word revealed by God to man — 
duty! Out of this comes the order and strength of nations, and the joy and peace and 
happiness which blossom in the bosom of domestic life. Duty — 

" She doth preserve the stars from wrong, 
And the eternal heavens thro' her are fresh and strong." 

When will the world learn to know and fitly appreciate while living, her heroes, her 
true and faithful children, and listen to and heed them before their battle of life is ended 
and their day is done. It is better, sir, to garland the living brow than to adorn the tomb ; 
better to cherish the living spirit, than to heap cold granite over the perished dust! It 
had been better if England had cherished her great poet, John Milton, while in life, than 
to leave him as she did leave him, poor and friendless, to be hunted like a partridge on his 
native hills, or to wander in his old age blind and alone. And, yet sir, I need not remind 
you or this goodly company that Milton, even in his destitution and want, walked in his 
singing robes — immortal without having tasted death ! If his matchless genius could not 
command England's homage, it should at least have secured him shelter and protection. 
But it did not! Even England's profligate king derided hira in his blindness, and told 
him that Heaven had inflicted this chastisement upon him, for what that tyrant called a 
crime — but what truthful history calls a high and patriotic duty. Bear with me while I 
give the noble old man's answer to this jibe and jeer ! " My misfortune," said he, " should 
protect me from insult. I have lost my eyes in the cause of liberty. God looks down 
upon me with more tenderness and compassion because I can now see none but himself." 
I invoke the spirit of Burns in rebuke of this malignant envy which neglects or hunts 
down the noble and true hearted sons of genius and honest toil, and turns aside to pay 
court and burn incense to ill-gotten wealth or misused power ! Standing above the dust 
made sacred by his genius, let us not be displeased that we are bidden by Burns, and men 
like him, " amidst the tumult and dazzle of our busy life, to listen for the few voices and 
watch for the few lamps which God has toned and lighted to charm and to guide us." 

When Burns died one of those voices was hushed, — one of those lamps was quenched — 
a great spirit was gone from our midst, — like the beautiful Kelmeny of his own green 



14 The Centennial Festival hy the 

hills, his starry soul " returned to the land of thought again." Sir, I intend no such in- 
justice to the truth of history, no such injustice to the memory of Burns, as to say that 
he was faultless, for then he had not been mortal — our kinsman and brother ! Without 
question he had faults, but with all his faults he was a noble man ; his great tuneful 
heart bears witness of that ; his honest face shining clear to our mental vision from that 
far country spe.\ks it — his expressive eye melting in pity or glowing with the unquench- 
able fire of genius, attest it. The soft sweet music of his soul comes over the ear and heart 
"like the sweet South, that breathes upon a bank of violets." Who can read his Mary 
in Heaven, without awe and reverence for his genius, sympathy for his deep sorrow, and 
a felt conviction that they are both immortal. 

Let Scotland keep maternal ward and watch over his dust — his soul of melody fills the 
great pulsating heart of humanity the world over. While in glory and in joy he followed 
his plough upon the mountain side, his sensitive spirit was filled with the beautiful and 
the true in nature, until he seemed attired, "with sudden brightness, like a man in- 
spired," 

I can find no fitter words in which to express my estimate of him, than those attributed 
to his countryman, the Shepherd in the Noctes. He says that Burns '•'- smo through the 
clear air a' the dwallins o' man — and richt through their wofs into their hearths and 
their hearts." His soul saw the Cotter's Saturday Night, and in words gave the vision 
imperishable life. As sure as God is in heaven, and that he has given us his word on 
earth, that picture is a picture of the truth, and Burns, in drawing it, saw, felt, and thocht 
thro' that real medium^ in which alone all that is fairest, loveliest, brightest, best in crea- 
tion, is made apparent to the eyes o' genius. 

Mr. President : I offer as a sentiment — Robert Burns, one of the few immortal names 
^hat were not born to die. 

Mr. Wm. E. Spalding offered as a volunteer sentiment: " The Sons of Scotia in America. 
Their love for Scotland is only equalled by their regard for the institutions of their 
adopted country;" and at his request, (seconded by the gentlemen thus complimented,) 
the Chairman called on, 

Mr. M. W. CLUSKY, Postmaster of the House of Representatives, who said: — 

Mr. President and gentlemen : It is the highest compliment that we paj' our own natures 
as well as the memory of Robert Burns that to-day, sixty-three years after the shadows 
of the grave had descended upon him, we arc engaged commemorating his centennial 
birth-day; that to-day, in the language of the eloquent gentleman, (Mr. Carlisle,) there is 
an " electric cable of sympathy formed of true hearts, which from Continent to Conti- 
nent passes over it one current of honor to the memory of Robert Burns." 

Mr. Webster, upon one occasion, in speaking of the power of Great Britain, remarked, 
"that its morning drum beat following the sun and keeping company with the hours, 
encircles the earth daily with one continuous unbroken strain of the martial airs of 
England." To-day the manifestations of regard to Robert Burns, following the sun and 
keeping compan}^ with the hours, encircles the earth with one continuous and unbroken 
strain of the eloquence of his eulogists and the music of his songs from his world-wide 
admirers. 

Mr. Spalding has manifested his appreciation of the Scottish character by calling on 
me instead of one of yourselves to respond to the very true sentiment which he has just 
offered. He knew that you are too easily embarrassed by a just Compliment to respond 
otherwise than by a bashful disavowal of the merit accorded to you. He called on me. 
I suppose, to amplify the sentiment rather than to speak for you in acknowledgement of 
it. Whilst r thank him, on your behalf, for the pleasing terms in which he has been 
pleased to allude to you, I will for myself endorse the sentiment, and present a few re- 
flections suggested by it. 

The highest evidence, gentlemen, that you possess the qualifications to make you worthy 
citizens of your adopted home, is the commendable regard you pay those days which 
constitute the national anniversaries of your native land. A patriotic recollection by a 
man of the land of his birth commends him the more cheerfully to the welcome of America, 
and causes her to trust him the more readliy with the liberties Avhich mark the relations 
of citizen to Government in this country. A pharasaical depreciation of his native land 
does not fit him the better for the high prerogations we greet him with here. 

A short time since we joined in the celebration of Saint Andrew's day. To night we 
meet to pay our respect to the memory of him who everywhere that civilation has a home 
meets with no other commentary upon his life than that of the highest eulogy. Robert 
Burns was emphatically a bard, and as long as the voice of song is heard his ballads will 
keep alive by their sweetness the most grateful recollections of his memorv. 



Washington City Burns Club. 15 

Gentlemen, the contribution of the Scottish elements to the national interests of the 
country, appreciates their character as citizens. I'hat is the result of their indomitable 
energy. It is that which makes them so comfortable a portion of our people. As mer- 
chants they rank amongst the most successful. The mechanic arts, which do more to ad- 
vance a country than any other, has a large number of you amongst its followers in its 
most profitable avenues. 

This seems alike to enhance your individual prosperity, and build up the nation. Most 
of you present to-night are engaged in mechanical pursuits upon the Government works. 
You change, like magic, the unhewn stone into architectural monuments, which mark 
alike the progress of the country and your own skill. 

Time will not permit me to dwell upon so prolific a theme as Scottish history affords 
for a speech upon this occasion. If it were otherwise, I should like to speak to you of 
the time of Rhoderick Dhu and Fitz James. I should like to dwell upon William Wal- 
lace, whose giant arms, backed by a soldier's soul, and the true courage of an honest no- 
ble man, weilded the mighty sword that Scotland might be free, and Robert Bruce, ah, 
what a theme is there for pleasant contemplation and merited eulogy. 

The battle fields, upon which English prowess has triumphed, are enriched with the 
blood of the Highland warriors, whilst history dedicates its brightest pages to a record of 
their valor. I might speak of the other contributions of Scotland to the fame of Eng- 
land, of her statesmen and literati, but I forbear to trespass upon your patience, and 
will close by thanking you for your kind attention. 

P. Hannay, Esq., (President of the Club,) gave as a volunteer sentiment. " The Press ! 
Without it Burns would not have been immortal. Dear is it to every " citizen," native 
or adopted, of the land of Freedom. 

JOHN MITCHEL, Esq., Editor of the "Southern Citizen," was called to his feet, and was 

greeted with a hearty round of cheers : — 

Although not informed that he was expected to speak, he would gladly avail himself 
of the occasion to express his thanks to the Burns Club, for their kind invitation to this 
festival. As a writer he was new to Washington, but he should not soon forget the welcome 
he had received here and elsewhere in this country. And yet he hoped and felt that it 
would not be considered treason to his adopted land if he should treasure up the memo- 
ries of that of his birth. It had always been the peculiar prerogative of Irishmen to 
claim every great man, if not as an Irishman, at least as the son or grandson of one. He 
had a friend who was so much carried away by his admiration of Shakspeare as to insist 
that his proper name was O'Shaughnessy. (laughter) It was upon this principle that he felt 
a sort of national pride in being privileged to participate in the honors they were 
paying to the memory of Robert Burns. He had always endeavored to persuade him- 
self that Burns was an Irishman ; and it was easy to give, if not proofs, at least reasons 
that go to show the possibility of such being the fact. None could deny that Burns was 
an Irish name, and that to this day there were a vastly greater number possessing that 
name in Ireland than in Scotland. If not an Irishman, the bard of Caledonia had long 
since been naturalized among the Irish people. In the north of Ireland where he himself 
had been brought up. Burns was everywhere read and admired, and the first glimpses 
which he had caught of the magical power of poetry was from his stirring strains. And 
so he could never divest himself of the idea that Burns, endowed as he was with the warm 
Celtic temperament, was indeed a fellow countryman of his own. While his poetry pos- 
sesses less polish than Moore's and less sentiment than Beranger's, it contained more of 
earnest human nature than both together. 

Edward G. Dill, Esq., offered as a volunteer toast : " The Drama. It holds a mirror up 
to that nature which Robert Burns loved to portray." 

Mr. J. M. DAWSON, the well known comedian, w^as "called out," and greeted with the 

usual applause which attends his appearance. 

He sincerely thanked the assemblage for connecting his name in such flattering terms 
with the toast of " the Drama." He could make no excuse on the ground of " being un- 
accustomed to public speaking," (laughter) but, to speak the thoughts of an Author was 
a very diflferent matter from finding language for his own. It was right to honor the 
great dead, yet he believed it but tardy justice ; and he would like much better that gen- 
ius while living should receive it. What gratification such an ovation wouldhave been 
to Burns in his lifetime ! And how would even a small portion of the enthusiasm his 
talents now inspire, have soothed his death-bed pillow. Mr. Dawson then would abjure 
his hearers to cultivate greatness while it can derive some benefit from admiration. He 
adverted to the fate of genius, which suffered and died for want, and especially alluded 



16 



The Centennial Festival hy the 



to the case of Haydon, the Artist. Coming to the toast, "The Drama," he applied the 
general tenor of his remarks to its snstainment, and was sorry to say, that he had frequently 
seen a good play well performed to an audience not nearly as numerous as that preset. 
It was not right, that the Drama, which is civilization, should not be better supported 
I have (said Mr. D., addressing Mr. Speaker Orr,) had the pleasure, Mr. Chairman, of often 
seeing your good humored face in front of the curtain — not half as often as I could have 
wished, (laughter) but, you Mr. Chairman, have your public duties to attend to, and 
which you fulfil with such honorable distinction, (applause) but these gentlemen have 
not that excuse to offer. (Laughter and applause.) Now this, also, is a thing to be 
amended, and with you it lies to do it. (Applause and laughter.) 

Again thanking the audience who so good humoredly listened to him, Mr. Dawson 
said: It may be out of taste, but I cannot help making the remark, that among the many 
cities I have been in, not only in America, but in England and Ireland, I have never 
passed so pleasant a time, and enjoyed myself so much from good feeling and bon homny 
as in the city of Washington. [Applause.] Give me Washington. [Applause.] I feel 
that I am getting very prosy, but our friend (Mr. John Mitchel) has, as you have just 
heard, claimed Burns as an Irishman. [Laughter.] Now, there is an old legend very 
popularly believed, that St. Patrick was a Scotchman. [Laughter.] And with your per- 
mission I will attempt to sing you an account of his birth. [Applause.] Mr. Dawson 
then sung "The Birth of St. Patrick," amid frequent bursts of laughter. 

A. J. Glosbrenner, Esq., Sergeant-at-Arms of the House of Piepresentatives, asked per- 
mission to have the rules suspended, while he offered a resolution. No objection having 
been made, the Chairman [Mr. Speaker Orr,] declared him "in order," and he offered the 
following resolution: 

" Resolved, unanimously, That when next Mr. Dawson announces himself a« home at the National Theatre, 
we will resolve ourselves into a committee of the whole, and visit him in a body." 

The vote was taken, and declared to be unanimously in the affirmative. 

The Secretary presented the following lines on the centennial anniversary of the birth- 
day of Robert Burns, by Francis De Haes Janvier, Esq, who was prevented by illness 
from attending the festival: 



Fill up! Let every sparkling bowl, 

0"erflow with ruby wine. 
To pledge the memory of Burns, 
And auld lang syne! 

Andauld lang syne, my friends, 

And auld lang syne. 
To pledge the memory of Burns, 
And auld lang syne I 

Let fragrant flowrets, gem'd with dew, 
And myrtle boughs entwine, 

To wreathe the memory of Burns, 
Aud auld lang syne! 

And auld lang syne, &c. 

Beneath an humble cottage roof, 
First flashed that light divine, 
"Which brightened o'er a thorny path, 
In auld lang syne ! 

In auld lang syne, &c. 



But poverty, and toil, aud care, 

Were powerless to confine, 
The genius of that peasant bard, 

In auld lang syne! 

In auld laug syne, &c. 

The coming sunlight cleaves the mist, 

In many a golden line — 
So triumphed Burns o'er adverse fate, 

In auld lang syne, 

In auld lang syne, &c. 

Volunteer sentiment by James Clephane : 



The sunlight leaps from plain to hill, 

O'er all the world to shine — 
So rose that radiant intellect, 

In auld lang syne! 

In auld lang syne, &c. 

Its beams went forth — and princes bowed 

Before a rustic shrine — 
It shone alike on hut and hall, 

In auld lang syne! 
In auld lang syne, &c. 

It came to bless our distant land, 

Across the heaving brine, 
To bind our hearts, with links of love, 

To auld lang syne! 

To auld lang syne, &c. 

It blazes now in risiug strength, 

Nor shall its power decline, 
'Till the last age has hailed the light, 

Of auld lang syne! 

Of auld lang syne, &c. 

Then drink ! A hundred years have fled- 

Yet, meet we to enshrine, 
The immortal memory of Burns, 
And auld lang syne! 

And auld lang syne, my friends, 

And auld lang syne, 
To pledge the memory of Burns, 
Andauld laug syne! 



Walter Scott — Long \inknown, like the mountains and glens of his native land, as a brilliant meteor, their 
beauties flashed out upon the world by his illuminated pen. 

Volunteer sentiment by John F. Ennis: 

Burns atid Jefferson — The Scottish Bard and American Statesman. The one proclaimed in verse, the other 
in prose, "the equality of man." Republican America will ever honor the memory of both. 



Washington Qity Bums Qluh. IT 

Volunteer sentiment by A. F. CuKNiNaiiAM : 
Scotland's brightest gem— Robert Burns: The Poet, the Patriot, the Man. Time, which generally dulls, if it 
does not cover with oblivion all otheia, only renders more effulgent his f.enius. 

Mr. B. F. Wilkins offered, as a volunteer sentiment: 

Major Ben: Perley Poore. For his prompt performance of the conditions of his wager, *-lang syne," and 
for his faitliful discharge of his duties as Corresponding Secretary of this celebration, " may he live a thous- 
and years and one, and may his shadow be never the less." 

Mr. POORE responded— 

Thanks, for this personal compliment. Yankees, like Scotchmen, are an industrious, 
thrifty race, and when they enter into an engagement, (no matter how foolishly.) they 
always carry it fairly out, €ven at a sacrifice of comfort, or at a risk of becoming noto- 
rious. I would also express my thanks to my Scottish friends, for the privilege of being 
present at this festive board, and of Joining them in honoring the centennial anniversary of 
the birthday of Robert Burns. Although a Yankee (and no wise ashamed or afraid be- 
cause I am one,) 1 can say with my legal friend, that Scotch blood flows in the veins of 
my children, it was my privilege to pass the early years of my life surrounded by Scotch 
farm laborers, who taught me to read — aye, and to understand — the poems of him 
who walked " in glory and in joy" behind his plough. In later years, I enjoyed a pilgrim- 
age through North Britian, that glorious nursery of brave men and of "bonnie lassies," 
where each valley and each crag, each lock and each glen, has some recollection of the 
past or some pleasure for the present. And in every quarter of the globe, I have found 
true friends and jovial companions, among the countrymen of Scotia's Bard, who was so 
justly styled "a missionary sent into the world to teach it a Higher Doctrine, a purer 
truth." 

But, my friends, I do not fancy the idea that this centennial ovation, which is now en- 
circling the earth, is a mere tribute to the poetical genius of Burns. For one, most 
heartily do I protest against this degradation of Nature's Nobleman, hj making him mount 
Pegasus, and be trotted around festive boards by showmen who blow their own trumpets 
uieanwhil-e. But is not honored merely as a poet, except by that small fraction of hu- 
manity, versed in rymes and in nothing else, of whom the motto ^'■Poeta nascitur nonjit,^' 
may be translated: "Such poets are not fit to be born." 

Indeed, the memory of a man who was simply a poet would never be thus houored. 
The ledgers of publishers, those literary thermometers, show that the works of man}' 
poets,ancient and modern, dramatic and epic, meet with a larger sale than do those of Burns. 
Homer, Dante, Milton, Shakspeare, Schiller, Racine, Byron, and a score of others, are his 
poetical superiors, yet how many even know when the birth-day of one of these comes 
around. Who honor these great poets, as Burns is honored to-night the world over, by 
assemblages in almost every hamlet where are men who can speak the mother tongue of 
North Britian ? None — but with Burns the case is different. Poetry was not with him 
a shining raiment, but a thin, transparent veil, carelessly worn, through which we saw 
the Honest Man, who "took the human heart within his hands, and set its beatings all to 
music." Poor ploughman and indebted guager as he was, he despised formal style and 
pedantic learning, as he did the purse-proud aristocracy of his own land; and if his original 
thoughts did sometimes carelessly chrystallise into poetical shape — symmetrical yet irregu- 
lar — unique and beautiful — they never lacked the common sense of sturdy prose. Not as 
a mere poet let him be honored, but as a man, who was truly the Champion of the People. 

I am not sure that Burns, could his life have been spared,would have approved of the man- 
ner in which this his birth-night is celebrated. Abater of shams, he would have turned 
with disgust from those who seek to so exhibit his greatness, that their own insignificant 
egotism may be seen illuminated by the radiance of his glory. We know that when he 
lived, he avoided all such creatures, and that he was equally averse to meeting " dis- 
tinguished individuals," yet great was his delight to join good fellows around a festive 
board, where the night could go on "in sangs an' clatter." Hoping then to excite some 
table merriment, as becoming a feast in honor of him who disliked decorum, I will — in- 
stead of a sentiment — give you a story — [and the story was told.] 

Professor Dimitry offered as a volunteer sentiment. Burns andBeranger. The Bards 
whose voice will ever tone to the popular sympathies, and whose poetry echo in the 
popular heart: In their hands, the plough-handle and the composing stick were converted 
into harps of immortal song. 

• The chair called for other volunteer sentiments, and a large number were handed in, 
among them the following : 

By Mr. Warren, of Massachusetts? The Poetry of Burns. It inculcates the love of 
liberty, and the liberty of love. 

i 3 



18 Tli^ Centennial Festival hy the 

By Wm. p. Mohun. Robert Burns, the favorite Scottish Bard; Robert Bruce and Wil- 
liam Wallace, the defenders of Scottish liberty. 

By Dr. J. B. Blake, Commissioner of Public Buildings. Eob Roy Macgregor. Though 
a cattle-dealer and an outlaw, he was an honest and brave man. The pride of his 
countrymen I Who boasted "that he would not turn his back on an enemy or a friend." 

By John H. Cunningham. The name of '•''Maryy Embalmed in the love of her 
sweetest of bards, and linked with the wrongs of her fairest of queens — it will ever impart 
a peculiar thrill to the chivalry and tenderness of Scotland's sons: The muse of poetry^ 
exultant, hallows it with a smile — the muse of history, repentant, vindicates it with a tear. 

By W. Gaddis. Wm. R. Smith, Esq., one of the original founders of the Burns Club of 
Washington City. A true admirer of beauty, whether in the blooming gardens of na- 
ture, or in the flowery realms of song. 

By Daniel Dewar, Secretary of the Club. The Cottage fire-sides of Scotland. Immor- 
talized by Burns, who has invested their humble smoke with a glory greater than the 
flames upon the proudest altars. 

The Memory of Sir Walter Scott, ih&t "Wi^jard of the North" whose magic pen dis- 
closed the hidden treasures of history. 

" Blending romance with Scotia's ancient lore, 
Bidding her classic streams and mountains wild, 
Shine forth in beauty, an enchanted land." 

By Gilbert Cameron, Esq., President of the Washington St. Andrews Society. The 
Burns Club of Baltimore, that parent association of all which celebrate this night in the 
United States, having been organized in the year 1829 for the purpose of commemora- 
ting, in a becoming way, the day that gave birth to Burns, the child of Scotland, whos.e 
fame fills the world. 

Sent By a Lady. Donald MacLeod, Esq., who has made so many delighted listeners 
familiar with Scottish Poetry, and now places a laurel wreath upon the tomb of Scot- 
lands first poet. 

' ' Let sceptred Poesy from her throne descend, 

By Muses guarded, and by Graces led; 
To swell the glory, and her presence lend,« 
To the grand pageant of the honored dead." 

By T. E. Young. Our absent friends, may they live to a good old age, and be with us 
on many of our festive meetings. 

By G. W. Flood. The Memory of Washington, the " Mystic" Brother of Scotland's bard. 

By C. Haskins. The President of the Burns Club of Washington City, P. Hannay, Esq. 

Mr. Hannay made a brief response, and proposed : The memory of John Wilson, the 
Songster of Scotland. [Mr. W. B. Todd endorsed this sentiment by singing a ballad in 
excellent style.] 

By W. H. Ward. Robert Burns, who led poetry through the humble walks of life, and 
made^every Peasant's cot^a Palace. 

The Homdy Scenes of the National Bard. They inspire the sentiment to the Scotch 
heart of the third generation — 

"|Dear Scotland's hills, thy faintest flower to ine> 
Exceeds in bloom the rose of Araby ; 
The smallest pebble on thy hardy shore 
Rebukes the pride of all Golconda's store." 

By W. R. Smith. Our Hosts. A sumptuous feast and hearty good cheer makes grate- 
ful hearts — may they always be as happy as they have made us to-night. 

By Ben : Perley Poors. The Birth-day of Burns. Although none of us will evea; again 
assist at a centennial celebration of it, may we never fail to honor it. 

While tender " Auld Lang Syne," shall teach 

A brither's heart to feel, 
And weary eyes wi' tender gaze 

Turn to the land that's le^l, 
Sae lang as man that's made ^o mourn; 

For love and kindness yearns, 
Sae lang shall live in light and song, 

Auld Scotia's Robert Burns. 



Washington City Burns Ctuh. 19 

By Mr. Woodley. The health of Hon. J. L. Orr, Speaker of the House of Representa- 
tives. [This toast was honored with a round of applause.] 

Other sentiments were offered, but they were not handed in for publication, and the 
evening was enlivened by songs and ballads, sang by Messrs. Gilbert Cameron, Wm. B. 
Todd, James Sword, Thomas Spence, J. T. Coyle, Robert Pennman, and James F. Gibson. 
The vocal powers of these gentlemen added greatly to the enjoyment of the evening. 

The festivities were prolonged until far into the morning, but amid that feast of reason 
and flow of soul, few had felt like taking note of time. The officers of the club added 
greatly to the enjoyment of all present, by their constant care and attention, neither 
could the bottoms of the frequently replenished punch-bowls be found. At last, how- 
ever, it became necessary to separate, and after singing of " Auld Lang Syne," with hands 
clasped around the table, the Chairman declared the festival adjourned. 



-<«•- 



At a meeting of the officers of the Club, held at the office of its President, on the even- 
ing of the 27th of January, it was unanimously 

Resolved, That the thanks of the Washington City Burns Club be presented to the Hon- 
orary Chairman and Vice Chairman, for the acceptable manner in which they presided 
over the centennial entertainment. 

Resolved, That the Corresponding Secretary edit and publish a report of the proceed- 
ings, and that after defraying the expense of publication, the entire receipts be forwarded 
to the editor of the Scottish American for transmission to the surviving relatives of Burns. 

In accordance with the above resolution, the corresponding secretary has prepared this 
pamphlet, the publication of which has been delayed by the tardiness with which revised 
reports of the speeches were furnished him. 

He has also appended the Prize Poems of Great Britian and the United States, as val- 
uable souvenirs of this celebration, worth preserving. The British poem was written 
by Miss Isa Craig, at present a resident at London, for the prize offered by the Burns 
Festival at the Crystal Palace. The American poem was written by Thomas Frazer, of 
Newark, New Jersey, for the prize offered by the Burns Club of Baltimore. 

All of which is respectfully submitted. BEN: PERLEY POORE, 

Washington, J/arcA. 1, 1859. Corresponding Secretary. 



20 



The Centennial Festival hy the 



TF^E BRITISH PRIZE POEiM, 

BY ISA CUAIO. 

Read at the Centennary Celebration in London. 



We hail this morn 
A centur3'',s noblest birth : 

A poec peasant born. 
Who more of Fame's immortal dower 
Unto his country brings, 
Than all her Kings! 

As lamps high set 

Upon some earthly eminence — 

And to the gazer brighter thence 

Than the sphere-lights they flout — 

Dwindle in distance and die out, 

While no star waneth yet; 
So through the Past's far-reaching night, 
Only tlie star-souls keep their light. 

A gentle boy, — 
With moods of sadness and of mirth, 

Quick tears and sudden joy, — 
Grew up beside the peasant's hearth. 
His father's toil he shares ; 
Buthalfhis mother's cares 
From his dark searching eyes, 
Too swift to sympathise. 

Hid in her heart she bear a. 

At early morn 
His father calls liim to the field; 

Through the stiff soil that clogs his feet, 

Chill rain and harvest' heat, 

He plods all day; returns at eve outworn, 
To the rude fare a peasant's lot doth yield; 

To what else was ho born? 

The God-made King 

Of every living thing 
(For his great heart in love could hold them all;) 
The dumb eyes meeting his by hearth and stall, — 

Gifted to understand.' — 

Knew it and sought his hand : 
And the most timorous creature had not fled, 

Cotild she his heart have read. 
Which fain all feeble things had bless'd and sheltered. 



To Nature's feast, — 
Who knew her noblest guest 
And entertaiu'd him best, — 
Kingly he came. Her chambers of the east 
She drap'd with crimson and with gold, 
And pour'd her pure joy-wines 
For him the poet-soul'd. 
For him her anthem roll'd, 
From the storm-wind among the winter pines, 

Down to the slenderest note 
Of a love-warble from the linnet's throat. 

But when begins 
The array for battle, and the trumpet blows, 
A king must leave the feast, and lead the fight. 
And with its mortal foes — 
Grim gathering hosts of sorrows and of sins — 
Each human soul must close. 
And Fame her trumpet blew 
Before him; wrapp'd him in her purple state; 
And made him mark for all the shafts of fate, 
That henceforth round him flew. 



Though he may yield. 
Hard-preas'd and wounded fall 
Forsaken on the field ; 
His regal vestmeuts soil'd : 
His crown of half its jewels spoil'd ; 

He is a King for all. 
Had he but stood aloof; 
Had he array'd himself in armor proof 
Against temptation's darts ! 
So yearn the good ; so those the world calla wise, 
With Tain presumptuous hearts. 
Triumphant moralise. 

Of martyr-woe 
A sacred shadow on his meraor3'^ rests ; 

Tears have not ceased to flow; 
Indignant grief yet stirs impetuous breasts. 

To think, — above that noble soul brought low, 
That wise and soaring spirit fool'd, enslav'd — 

Thus, thus he had been saved ! 

It might not be ! 
That heart of harmony 
Had been too rudely rent; 
Its silver chords, which any hand could Avonnd, 
By no hand could lie tuned, 
Save by the Maker of the instrument, 
Its every string who knew. 
And from profaning touch his heavenly gift withdrew. 

Ilegretfullove 

His country fain would prove, 
By grateful honors lavish 'd on his grave; 

Would fain redeem her blame 
That he so little at her hands can claim. 

Who unrewarded gave 
To her his life-bought gift of song and fame. 

The land he trod 
Hath now become a place of pilgrimage; 
Where dearer are the daisies of the sod 
That could his song engage. 

The hoary hawthorn, wreath'd 
Above the bank on which his limbs he flung 
While some sweet plaint he breathed; 
The streams he wander'd near ; 
The maidens whom he loved ; the songs he sung; — 

All, all are dear ! 

The arch blue eyes — 
Arch but for love's disguise — 
Of Scotland's daughters, soften at his strain ; 
Her hardy sons, sent forth across the main 
To drive the ploughshare through earth's virgin soils, 
Lighten with it their toils; 
And sister lands have learn'd to love the tongue 
In which such songs are sung. 



For doth not Song 

To the whole world belong ? 
Is it not given wherever tears can fall. 
Wherever hearts can melt , or blushes glow, 
Or mirth and sadness mingle as they flow, 
A heritage to all? 



Washington City Burns Club, 



21 



THE AMERICAN PRIZE POEM. 

BY THOMAS FRAZER. 

Read at the Centennary Celebration in Baltimore. 



"The Peasant Bardof Scotland:— his name will live 
while the human heart has a single chord to respond 
to the touch of genius !" Daniel Webster 

Kyle claims his birth : — wide earth, his name, 
AVhere, climes scarce kenn'd j'et, peal his fame. 
An' gann time, gaily chimes the same 

Where e'er he turns, 
Now, every true warm heart's the hame 

0' Minstrel Burns! 

Where Boreas, brawls o'er blind'in' snaw ; 
Where Simmer, jinks through scented shaw; 
Where Wastlan' Zephyrs, safely blaw, 

There, Eobin reigns; 
An' even the thowless Esquimaux, 

Hae heard his strains I 

Dear bonny Doon, clear gurglin' Ayr, 

Pure Afton an' the Liigar fair, 

Can claim his sangs their ain nae mair, 

Sin' lang years syne, 
Braw Hudson an' thrang Delaware, 

Kenn'd every lino I 

Zone round to zone! — where e'er we trace 
The clearing o' the pale-faced race; — 
Where still the redman trains the chase 

Through prairie brake, 
Ev'n there, his sang, wi' sweet wild grace 

Rings round the lake ! 

The lone backwoodsman, as he seems 
To ponder, o'er his forest schemes, 
Hums auld-lang-syne, among his dreams 

0' far aff hame, 
An' thinks, God bless him ! that the streams 

Croon Robin's name! 

Mothers wha skirled his sangs, when bairns 
In Carrick, Lothian, Merse or Mearns, 
Are listonin' now. by Indian cairns, 

Wi' hearts half sobbin, 
While some wee dawty, blythely learns 

A verse frae Robin! 

Sound though he sleeps in death's cauld bower, — 
1 what a' hearts, this chosen hour, 
Far as fleet fancy's wing can scower, 

In raptured thrangs, 
Are thirlin' wi' the warlock power 

0' Robin's sangs. 

Frae Alloway's auld haunted aisle, 
To far Australia's gowd strewn soil ; 
An' ev'n where India's ruthless guile, 

Mak's mercj' quake, 
Soul-minglin'. there, worth, wealth an' toil, 

Meet for his sake. 

True hearts at hame, — true to the core, 
To auld Scots bards an' auld warld lore, 
Are blendin', — as in scenes o' yore, 

Wi' Burns the van. — 
Love for braw Clydrsdale's wild woods hoar, 

An' love for man. 



Staid Arthurseat's grim gray man'd head, 
Bows to auld Reekie's requiem reed ; 
While Soutra, lifts the wailin' screed, 

An' Tweed, returns 
His plaintive praises o'er the dead 

The darliu' Burns. 



Poor dowie Maucchline dights her e'e; 
Nith maunders to the Sabbin' sea; 
An' high on Bannock's far-famed lea. 

The stalwart Thistle, 
Droops as the winds in mournfu' key. 

Around him rustle. 



Dark, glooms Dumfries, as slowly past 
Saunt Michael's growls, the gruesome blast, 
Where Scotia's pale an' sair down cast, 

Clasps the sad grun' 
That haps her loved, an' to the last. 

Immortal Son! 



While backward frae the grave yard drear, 
Thought tremblin' through a hundred year, 
Sees Doon's clay Cot, where weel hained cheer, 

Shows poortooth's jo}'. 
When nature's sel' brought hame her dear, 

Choice, noble boy. 

But soon blythe hope, fu' kindly keeps 
Within her weasunk heart, an' seeks 
To tint her tricklin' suavv-white cheeks 

Wi' words that burn, — 
Why! when a world her Bard's fame speaks! 

Why should she mourn ? 

Wide, through the great Atlantic, rows 
His huge waves, wi' their wild white pows, 
To part our auld an' new warld knowes, 

Weel pleased, she turns 
A westward look, where lustrous grows 

The name o' Burns! 

Pride, too, though tear diram'd for a wee, 

May lively light her heart wi glee, 

For where, sin' winged earth first flew free, 

E'er lived the Ian' 
That bore so true a bard as he — 

So true a man ? 

In him, poor human nature's heart, 
Had ae firm friend to take its part. 
So weel kenn'd he, wi' what fell art, 

Our passions, goad 
Frail man to slight fair virtue's chart. 

An' lose his road. 

An' we, whose lot's to toil, an thole 
Though cross an' care harrass the soul, 
Can cheer the weary warld day's dole, 

Wi' strains heart rung. 
Brave strains! our Burns, worn, but heart-whole 

Alone has sung. 



22 



Festival hy the Washington Burns Club. 



His words hae gi'en truth wiugs, to bear 
Round earth the poor man's fate, that here 
Vain pride, can ne'er wi' plain worth peer, 

Nor lilt aught liA'in' 
Ae foot, though tip-tae raxed on gear, 

The nearer heaven. 

Fearless for right, wi' nerve to dare. 
Seer-like, he laid his sage soul bare. 
To show what life had graven there, 

That earth might learn ; 
Yet, though a' earth in Burns may share, 

He's Scotia^s bairn ! 

An' 0' how dearly has he row'd 
Her round wi' glory, like the gowd, 
Her ain braw sunset pours on cloud, 

Crag, strath an' river, 
'Till queen o' sang, she stands, uncowd, 

An' crowned for ever I 

Whilst we, within our heart's heart, shrine 
The man, — " The Brither man!" — an' twine 
"Wi' a' the loves o' auld-lang syne ! 

An' young to-dy, 
Scotland ari' Burns ! — twa names to shine. 

While time grows gray ! 

Scotland hersel' wi' a' her glories. 
Her daurin' deeds an' dear auld stories ; 
The ^reat an' guid wha've gane before u»; 

Her martyr host, 
Ev'n wi' the graves o' them that bore us, 

The loved an' lost. 

Her sword, that ay flashed iirst for right; 
Her word, that never craved to might ; 
Her sang, brough down like gleams o' light 

On music's wings, 
To nerve her in the lang fierce fight 

Wi' hostile kings ! 

Her Laverock, in the dawnin' clouds. 
Her Merle, amang the evenin' woods ; 
Her Mavis, 'mang the birk's young buds : 

The blythe wee wren. 
An' Robin's namesake, as he scuds 

Through drift- white glen. 

Her snaw-drap, warslin' wi' the sleet; 
Her primrose, pearled wi' dewy weet ; 
Her bluebell, frae its mountain seat 

Beckin' an' bow'in'. 
Her wee gem. sweetest o' the sweet, 

The peerless gowan. 

Her waters, in their sangsome glee. 
Gurlin' through clench an' clover-lea, 
Soughin' aneath the Saughen tree 

Where fishers hide, 
An' driften' outward to the sea 

Wi' buirdly pride. 



The catkins, that her hazels hing 

In clusters round the nooks o' spring; 

Her rowans an' her haws, that swing 

O'er wadeless streams. 
An' bless the school-boy hearts, that bring 

Them hame in dreams. 

Her muirlan's, in their heather bloom ; 
Her deep glens, in their silent gloom ; 
Her gray crag, where their torrents fume 

Wi' downw«rd shriver ; 
Her braesides, wi' their thistle plume. 

Free, an' far ever ! 

Scotland hersel' — Heaven bless her name, 
Wi* a' her kith 'an' kin the same, — 
Yea I Scotland's sel', wi' a' her fame, 

Weel's we revere her, 
Than him, her Bard o' heart an' hame, 

Is scarcely dearer! 

So rare the sway, his heart strains wield. 

In lordly ha' an' low thack bield, 

Wi' manhood, youth an hoar crowned-elld, 

O'er Scotland wide, 
BURNd an' The Word, frae heaven revealed, 

Lie side by side. 

Earth owned ! his genius, in its prime. 

Now towers in mind's fair green hilled clime,: 

Where, mist-robed Ossian, outsings time. 

An' Shakspear, smiles 
As Milton, murmurin^ dreams sublime, 

Looks earthward whiles.! 

! hear then, Scot !— though yet you toil, 
To fill some lordin's loof wi' spoil, 
Or thrivin' on Columbian soil, 

Yoursel' your lord. 
Ne'er dim his now bright fame, wi' guile 

In thought or word ! 

Spurn a' that's wrang, an' mak' the right 
Your handfast, sure, strive strong and tight, 
Cling there, an' ne'er let out o' sight 

The wants o'man. 
But, Burns-like, strive his lot to light, 

As weel's yOu can. 

Ne'er let vile self, get grip, to twiist 
What heart or conscience dictates just; 
Straight forward, ay, act, though fate's gust 

May take your breath ; — 
The man wha' fears nae face of dust, 

Needs scarce fear death. 

Proud, stern, though gentle as the tone 
Breathed through a mother's prayerfu' moan. 
Burns, scorned to snool round rank or throne, 

Fause tongued an' tame; — 
Till death, his heart was freedom's own. 
Be ours the same ! 




H 489 85 






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HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. 

1985 

_ N. MANCHESTER, 

fe^ INDIANA 46962 




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